


For you, I'll do it again

by Sadwritingtyrant



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Reincarnation, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadwritingtyrant/pseuds/Sadwritingtyrant
Summary: "Are you talking about the way you salivated over her? Does your brain function normally when good looking people are around or does it skip straight to bone mode?""Yer pretty and I don't bone ya Omi kun," Atsumu said pushing the buttons on the elevator. "So moot point Omi Omi."Kiyoomi hears Atsumu's voice. It's annoying, it's snide but maybe he's heard it before, and fallen a little bit in love.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 32
Kudos: 242





	For you, I'll do it again

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning guys; this fic highlights homophobia and has mentions of violence, so proceed with caution.

Sakusa Kiyoomi couldn’t stand a lot of things. If he were to make a list; misplaced belongings, people getting into his personal space and Miya Atsumu post match ranked comparatively high. Sadly, Miya Atsumu after a match brought numbers 1 and 2 with him, and as he walked into their shared room at the inn the black jackals were currently residing in after the match against EJP Rajin, he could see that Atsumu’s rooming habits hadn’t taken a turn for the better.

  
He took consolation in the knowledge that the mess was strictly on Atsumu’s side of the room, and cursed Meian once again for choosing walking chaos as his roommate. He’d tried to wiggle his way out, and told Meian that he’d rather room with Shion or Thomas, but Meian had insisted saying everyone else would want to shuffle rooms and Hinata and Bokuto ending up in the same room could mean no sleep for everyone involved.

  
"The receptionist lady gave us the best room, Omi, all thanks to my excellent smile, " Atsumu said as they walked downstairs for dinner.   
"Are you talking about the way you salivated over yet another woman? Does your brain function normally when good looking people are around or does it skip straight to bone mode?"   
" Yer pretty and I don't bone ya Omi kun," Atsumu said pushing the buttons on the elevator. "So moot point Omi Omi."

  
Kiyoomi stared. 

  
"Do you hear yourself?" 

  
Atsumu cocked his head to the side and Kiyoomi decided he might actually murder someone, preferably Atsumu before the three days were up. 

  
"'Tsumu san," Hinata chirped, as they sat at the giant dining table for dinner. "Osamu san said you cried for three days straight when you became setter for the first time." 

  
Atsumu tutted him and gave him a napkin to wipe the orange juice dribbling down his chin.   
"we've been over this Shoyou kun," he said sighing, "I'm the trustworthy twin."  
He sat up straight. "Besides, shouldn't ya be taking my side? Ya said I was yer favorite." he said petulantly.   
"Yes, Atsumu san," Hinata said stifling a laugh behind his hands, even as Atsumu reached out to ruffle his unruly hair.   
"Does getting compliments from kids fill your vanity jar, Miya," Kiyoomi asked because he couldn't seem to help himself. "Be careful, we won't be able to stuff you in the bus on the ride back, what with that massive globe for a head."  
"I'm twenty four!"   
"Does that mean I'm yer whole world Kiyoomi?" 

  
Kiyoomi. He dropped his cutlery on the floor on purpose to avoid seeing Atsumu's face, he had the feeling the tips of his ears were warming, fast. This proved to be a bad idea, because Atsumu appeared under the table, and touched Kiyoomi's arm ever do lightly, "Use mine, I haven't eaten yet. Those are dirty right?" 

  
Kiyoomi hated Miya Atsumu. 

  
“I’m showering first,” he’d told Atsumu grimly, seeing Atsumu exit the dining room.  
“Anything for ya Omi,”Atsumu had replied bowing mockingly, and Sakusa’s stomach had done what he could only describe as a flip, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why sarcasm inspired gymnastics in the workings of his body.

  
Sure enough, Atsumu was already sprawled out on the corner bed when Kiyoomi entered, buried under a rubble of his own clothing, and fresh bedsheets he’d piled into his bag (though how they fit in there, Kiyoomi had no clue), and holding his phone up, away from his face.

  
“Omi!” he exclaimed excitedly, voice a little muffled under all the layers. “Check this out!”  
Sakusa resumed walking towards the bathroom, already taking off his shirt and tossing it to the hamper, fully intent on not engaging Atsumu. Unfortunately, avoiding Atsumu wasn’t a thing apparently, because Atsumu simply bounded up, and sprinted towards him, phone held out in front of him, getting in his perfect personal bubble with all his enthusiasm and spirit and soft thick hair.  
Too close, Kiyoomi’s mind supplied unhelpfully.

  
“What?” he asked, mustering all the irritation he was capable of into his voice. There was a sick feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach and it had less to do with the fact that Miya Atsumu seemed to have no regard for his own personal boundaries and more to do with the fact that he was shirtless in the vicinity of said Miya Atsumu, and his nipples had hardened considerably owing to the harsh cold air, a situation that could be easily misunderstood and the asshole in front of him wasn’t above taking full advantage of the situation.  
Atsumu however, didn’t spare him a glance. He fiddled with his phone, trying to enter a ridiculously complex pattern and failing. Kiyoomi told himself he didn’t care. Why would he care that Atsumu didn’t look at him? There was no reason to, none.  
“Jeez tone down the excitement Omi kun,” Atsumu quipped.  
“Miya, unlike some people, feeling clean is something I enjoy.”  
“Isn’t that weird though? Why would anyone enjoy it?” Atsumu snorted, and Kiyoomi had the urge to sock him in the face but that would require skin on skin contact, and he was certainly against it. Because Miya was surely unclean, yes that was the reason.  
“You reek, get the fuck away from me,” he said instead.  
Atsumu remained undeterred, in fact the smile on his face, far too close for Kiyoomi’s liking, widened marginally as he paused on his third attempt on his password, peering into his screen,  
“Ya said ya wanted to go first though. I was waiting for ya. Ah I’ve got fingerprint,” he said, smacking his palm to his forehead.

  
I was waiting for ya.

  
I was waiting for ya.

  
It was like someone had punched Kiyoomi squarely in the gut, except the pain was internal, clawing at the muscles in his stomach. His lungs refused to work, he felt claustrophobic, locked in a small room within the confines of his mind. He knew that voice, he’d heard that voice, he could place it, Atsumu had just said it, it was Atsumu, but it wasn’t. In his mind the words were more tender. Words full of love and promise, and so much hope.

  
Ya took so long Kiyoomi, I was waiting for ya. 

  
He heard the sound of a door opening, and the scratch of something smoother than a pen halting on paper, and he heard a voice that sounded eerily like himself speak this time. But it couldn’t be, because Kiyoomi had never uttered these words and he had certainly never sounded like this, soft and so, in love.  
Hey, the voice said, slow and musical. I’m home.

  
“Look at this!” Atsumu said insistently. “The hottest rising stars of the V.League, both from the same team, the Black Jackals certainly struck gold recruiting Saku-“ He stared. Kiyoomi was falling, he could feel it in the way his footing suddenly seemed nonexistent, in the way the world seemed to spin before his eyes, in the way Miya Atsumu’s face contorted with worry and shock.  
“Omi kun? Are you alright? Shit-“  
Kiyoomi felt an arm wrap around his waist, and another reach around to sling his arm around Atsumu’s neck.  
“Fuck Omi kun, ya okay? I’m sorry I’m such an idiot, I didn’t even notice- sorry I had to touch you, ya looked like yeh’d fall over if I didn’t hold ya,” He mumbled tightening his grip on Kiyoomi’s waist. He has big hands, Kiyoomi noted. They could probably wrap around my waist. You always told me I had a slim waist.  
“I told ya that? That yeh’ve got a slim waist?”   
Fuck.  
“I didn’t say that,” Kiyoomi mumbled, turning his head. Except he did. For some reason he said that and for some reason, he could hear Atsumu saying it, in that voice, but it was hungrier this time, much darker, like he wanted, wanted, wanted. Kiyoomi shut his eyes tightly, he wanted to chase that voice, and reality was keeping him from it. Maybe shutting his eyes would bring it back, that person in his head that somehow sounded exactly the same as Atsumu, and yet wildly different.  
He certainly didn’t feel real though. His body felt light and somehow, he wasn’t resisting being in Miya Atsumu’s arms. In fact, his body seemed to be accommodating the space between their bodies, fitting perfectly, as if he’d done this several times before. The familiarity was washing over him in waves, and the voice calling out to him was coming from a distance. He felt drunk. His nose brushed against Atsumu’s neck, and without quite meaning to, he inhaled the soft scent.

  
“Oi, I haven’t showered yet! God, we need a doctor in here! Someone, come on!”

  
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi mumbled against his neck, and the name felt both foreign and familiar on his tongue. He felt Atsumu stiffen, and take in a shaky breath.   
“Hold on Omi, I’ll lay yeh down.” Ah it’s that voice, Kiyoomi thought idly. But this time Atsumu was really talking to him, he could feel the vibration against his body as he leaned against Atsumu’s chest, and pressed his face, and inadvertently his lips to the side of his neck.   
“Did ya change the sheets?”   
“Hmm,” he murmured, too tired.   
“Okay.” He felt himself being lowered on to the soft mattress, but he didn’t want to let go. Not now.   
“Don’t,” he muttered, as the warmth on his side started to shift away. “Not again. Please.” He clung onto the soft weight that had settled him down, trying to rid the space between their bodies. The material of Atsumu’s shirt was rubbing against his bare torso and Kiyoomi flinched. His body was behaving unnaturally, there were some noises stuck in his throat as Atsumu tried to wiggle free, prolonging the contact on his body and the only thought lodged in his head was, this feels good.

  
“Omi,” the voice near his ear sounded desperate. “please yeh gotta give me something here. What do I do? Was it the food yeh ate? Yeh didn’t sanitize yer plate didya? Oh fuck yeh not gonna die on me are ya? Omi please, yeh cant die yet there’s so much yeh haven’t done, I mean sure yeh went ta college but the-“

  
Noisy.

  
“Shut up, Miya.”  
“Omi,” Atsumu’s voice was hushed. “You’re back?”  
it was a completely absurd thing to say, and yet oddly fitting.  
Kiyoomi tried to see through a haze, and as he took in the scenery of the room, he realized two things at once.   
The fresh sheets he’d brought from home and laid down on his bed, were officially ruined. He’d dropped onto the sheets without taking a wash, and his…panic attack, or whatever that was, had made him erupt in a fresh sheen of sweat that had pretty much soaked the sheets.  
Atsumu was on top of him.

Atsumu, was on top of him, settled between his legs that had flopped apart at an awkward angle, balanced precariously on one elbow placed on his side. The positioning of his legs and the tingling on the underside of his thighs fully seemed to indicate that he had been straddling his hips fairly tightly. Chest to chest, bare one to clothed, and Atsumu’s face bare inches from his own, Sakusa did the only rational thing he had done the entire night. He angled his leg out from underneath and used his foot to hit Atsumu squarely on the back.

  
“Ow! Ya little shit!” Atsumu howled finally moving away (Kiyoomi refused to think “breaking away”), and sat down on his heels, rubbing the offended spot.   
“I save ya ass and this is what I get?”  
“Save- you- why you,” it seemed like speaking coherently wasn’t something he could so at the moment, so he grabbed his pillow and flung it as hard as he could, straight at Atsumu’s face. There was an ugly flush creeping onto Kiyoomi’s face, moving down his chest. He knew this because he could see himself on the mirror hanging opposite, bearing witness to his shame.

  
There was a resounding silence, as Kiyoomi tried to fight away the memories of the past half hour, ones that were becoming increasingly vivid, and fully contemplated leaving the inn and never returning, and Atsumu simply stared, eyes widened in disbelief.

  
“So lemme get this straight,” he said slowly. “First yeh almost fall down and I catch you, settle you down on yer own bed, try to move away, and then you almost strangle me to death, and wrap yer thighs around me, trying ta fold me like a used toothpaste tub, then yeh ramble for a good five minutes, tell me not to leave yeh, and fucking BITE me,” he moved his shirt to the side to reveal what were inexplicably, bite marks, “and now I’m the bad guy? Somethin’ not adding up here Omi.”

  
Kiyoomi understood, he did. He’d freaked out for some reason and the part of himself that didn’t fall under the perpetually disgusted category realized, that Atsumu had actually helped him. But as words such as “thighs” and mentions of bite marks slipped past Miya Atsumu’s lips with no hassle at all, Kiyoomi, growing incredibly redder with each passing second, couldn’t seem to find the exact words.

  
“You fucking pervert!” he said instead.  
Atsumu’s mouth dropped open and he stared for five seconds, gaping. Then he threw his hands to the heavens, and groaned, “fuck you Sakusa,” voice heavy with exhaustion.  
He slid off Kiyoomi’s bed, and stopped to look around at the strangled noise Kiyoomi made.  
“No,” he said before he could say a word. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”  
Kiyoomi looked down at his hands, trying desperately to keep the memories out, trying to tone out the voice that had made him lose it for some reason. It all seemed to come back to Atsumu, and he thought he’d rather die right then and there, than admit that his voice, or what had seemed like his voice, had been the cause for his spiral.  
“Well?”  
Kiyoomi looked up to find Atsumu leaning against the door.   
“Go on then,” he murmured.   
Oh right.   
“I’ll go do that then,” Kiyoomi muttered, grabbing his towel and a change of clothes, and walking up to the bathroom, avoiding any eye contact and praying he’d drown.  
When he came out of the shower, feet clad in bathroom slippers, and towel slung around his shoulders, Atsumu was putting on his shoes.  
“You can go now Mi-“ he paused. “Where are you going?”  
“To get some,” Atsumu said, straightening up and smirking.  
“To get some what?” Kiyoomi prompted.  
Atsumu’s smile fell, as he cocked his head to the side.   
“Sex, Omi. Ever heard of that?”  
The weight was settling in the pit of his stomach again. He wanted it to go away.   
“Of course I have,” he said instead. “I’m just surprised you're having sex."   
“What’s that s’pposed ta mean?” Atsumu demanded indignantly.  
“Just that maybe your girls don’t mind ‘dumb’ if they’ve got the looks. Some people do like to settle,” he said, his voice mockingly light in a way he didn’t actually feel.  
“So yeh think I look good?”  
The grin was back full force, and Kiyoomi could feel the telltale signs of the tips of his ears starting to heat up. He turned away.  
“Anyway, her fiancé broke up with her, and she wanted some rebound sex, which I’m not above having-“  
“I don’t care.”  
“-I mean it works both ways, I get to have some fun, and she gets a warm body to help her forget the woes of young love.”  
“Shut up Miya,” Kiyoomi snapped. His body was feeling hot all of a sudden. Because of COURSE Miya would have occasional casual sex, of course he didn’t worry about germs, or feelings, he didn’t have any worry in the world.  
Kiyoomi couldn’t understand his urge to lock the door and throw the key out. Maybe it was the need to revel in the satisfaction of thwarting Miya Atsumu’s happiness, to deprive him of what he wanted.  
There was a timid knock at their door, to which both of them swiveled their heads.  
Was that the Rajin’s manager? It had to be. The same long brown hair, the voluptuous figure…Kiyoomi stared.  
“You’re fucking your ex-teammates manager?” he asked, crunching his nose.  
“Hush Omi, it sounds nasty when you say it that way.”  
“And what’re you going to do if someone gets hold of this tid bit of information, and claim our win today was fixed?”  
“Jesus, chill Omi, it ain't that big. The match is already over.”  
“Sakusa kun, was it?” the girl asked. Kiyoomi nodded mutely.   
“I thought I was coming over,” Atsumu whined. His voice made Kiyoomi sick. It was so wrong, there was something wrong.  
“I thought I’d come to you, to surprise you,” she said giggling slightly.

  
Was this how someone behaved after a break up? 

  
“Well we have to leave this place, Riko,” Atsumu said shaking him out of his trance.   
The girl, Riko, frowned.   
“But you said everyone would be attending that meeting while you pretended to be sick,” she said slowly. Kiyoomi shot Atsumu the dirtiest look he could muster. Atsumu, unsurprisingly avoided his gaze.  
“so we can use this place,” Riko tried again.  
“Nope,” Atsumu said, reaching the door and placing a hand at the small of her back. “Omi can’t sleep at night if he knows we’ve been here doing…stuff.”

  
Kiyoomi hated Miya Atsumu. Because Miya Atsumu was steering his partner for the night out of their shared room, leaving his chest feeling scooped out, and yet, here he was making sure that Sakusa wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or inconvenienced. It didn’t make sense. It was a contradiction. 

  
“Hey those sheets I brought?” Atsumu called over his shoulder. “They’re new. Freshly washed and ev’rythin. Yeh can’t use sheets from the inn yeh? Use those Omi.”

  
And then as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb, one that would decapitate Kiyoomi instantly, he walked, humming slightly, the girl beside him looking every bit as confused as Kiyoomi felt.  
The room was eerily quiet, as Kiyoomi sat down heavily on his bed, and stared at the pile on Atsumu’s bed. And then because he was a complete pushover, he pulled the sheets of his own and draped the ones Atsumu had lent over them.   
“I’m sick,” he told Meian, and because Sakusa Kiyoomi was never sick, only paranoid of being so, Meian allowed him bed rest and exempted him (“Atsumu’s sick too, should I be worried?”).  
Kiyoomi turned the lights off and pulled the sheets over his head, trying hard to not think about where his lips had been moments ago, on whispered voices, and hands on his waist, on how he was desperately wishing Atsumu would get caught and sent back, to him.

“Kiyoomi, nothing but your best behavior, you hear me?” his father was saying, and there was something in the way his face was wound, tight and unrelenting, that had him nodding instead of cutting back, that he’d heard it a thousand times by now; the Miyas were basically royalty.   
He brushed his hair away from his shoulders, maybe he should have tied his hair up like his mother had suggested. "It gets in the way," she'd said, trying to tame his mane tumbling past his waist.   
"Relax mother," he'd said. "I'm not going to get married today."  
“When you meet the Prime Minister’s son, you bow to him. Try to keep him in your good books.”  
The palanquin carrying them shook, and one of the men carrying it called out timidly,  
“’m sorry m’lord,” but Kiyoomi’s father paid him no mind.  
“They say he’s a rogue the Miya boy,” he muttered under his breath, “don’t worry, you just have to make sure he trusts you enough to recommend you to the king’s counsellors. You’ll be rising the ranks in no time.”  
“Kiyoomi,” his mother called, her tone soft. “it’s only for two months my love, and this is for all of us. For our family.”  
Ah yes, the family legacy. He tried to shake off the feeling of being sold away to appease the nobles, but working as an apprentice to the prime minister should definitely have its perks, he reasoned. And the “Miya boy” surely couldn’t be that bad.  
The Miya boy was definitely that bad. Worse. A menace. Kiyoomi wanted to go home.   
His very first encounter with Miya Atsumu was nothing short of horrid. Miya Atsumu gave him one look, and turned to his father.  
“No way, not happening, absolutely not.”  
“Atsumu,” his father said patronizingly. “be nice.”  
“Keep him at your place, why should he stay at mine?”  
“You already know we can’t have anyone at the main house, and besides,” he paused, “what’s disturbing you? The Sakura mansion has 6 rooms, two living rooms, you may never even have to meet each other.”  
I’m right here, Kiyoomi wanted to scream. You fucking asshole, I’m still here. He glanced at his parents but they both had their heads bowed respectfully, neither of them willing to protect his honor. I’m chained, Kiyoomi thought. This is what it’s going to be like for me from now on.  
“Please take care of my son,” Kiyoomi’s mother said, bowing deeply.   
“Ah of course,” Miya san said, smiling. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.  
Atsumu groaned.   
“Fine, were heading back. Say your goodbyes and shit.”  
“Language, Atsumu.”  
“Say your goodbyes and shit, please.”  
Kiyoomi stared. There was no way someone this entitled existed. There was absolutely no way.  
“Get on with it Omi.”  
Kiyoomi’s hands itched. The only way to soothe the itching was to bring the multicolored porcelain vase over Miya Atsumu’s head.  
But he said his goodbyes.  
“Bear with it,” his mother whispered, almost begging him.   
“He knows what he has to do,” his father said grimly.  
“Yes,” Kiyoomi replied, feeling more and more suffocated with each passing second. “I know.”

  
Atsumu was undeniably handsome. His hair was of an unnatural light yellow, a color Kiyoomi had never seen before on someone's hair but heard was easy to have if you knew where to buy the color. His shoulders were broad and wide, and he held himself with the confidence of a thousand men, as if every step were affirmation of the fact that he was the son of the second richest man in the kingdom, of the fact that he was widely known as the best swordsman of the century. He was also the rudest person Kiyoomi had ever met. 

  
“this is yer room,” Miya pointed at a reasonably sized room, with a clean futon, a wardrobe and dressing table. “this,” he pointed to one down the hall, “is where yeh take a shit.”  
Vulgar. Rude. Offensive.  
“so Mr. Prim and Proper, got any questions?”   
“No m’lord.”  
Kiyoomi bowed deeply, but chanced a glance at Miya’s face all the same, and saw it twist in something akin to disgust.  
“We done here?”  
Kiyoomi nodded.   
“then here’s to hoping we never cross paths in this mansion Omi.”

  
Miya Atsumu’s words were full of foreboding. Not two days after he moved in, a man broke into the Sakura mansion. A rebel against the boy king on the throne.   
“It won’t do to have a scholar murdered under our very roof,” he heard the prime minister say, as he listened through the crack in door.  
“What’re ya telling me to do? And it’s my fucking roof. Not yours.”  
Miya Atsumu was ever the gentleman.  
“hire some guards ya idiot.”  
“so yeh can have someone else spy on me? Yeh think I don’t know about the cleaning ladies? About the whore the Minister for foreign affairs sent my way? I’m the best swordsman in the country, I don’t need guards.”  
“But he does.”  
“Then take him with ya.”  
“Atsumu!”  
Sakusa could hear the heavy breathing. It was obvious at this point that the prime minister didn’t have a good relationship with his son, but there was something else. Why would he spy on his own son?  
“Fine,” he heard Atsumu say, “I'll set him up in my room. I'll protect him, and your flimsy little honor.”

  
Kiyoomi was so preoccupied by his own thoughts that he heard the door open far too late. He scrambled backwards, narrowly avoiding getting hit by the oak frame, and found himself face to face with Miya. The young Miya. It was the most frazzled he had ever seen him. For a second he stared at Kiyoomi, and for some reason, he could feel his heart rate accelerate as Miya Atsumu stared at him with his piercing gaze, but then the shutters closed in his eyes, and the smirk worked its way onto his face. 

  
“My, eavesdropping are we? Is that what they teach scholars these days?”.  
Sakusa could feel the heat rising in his face, but he refused to take the bait and instead opted for feigning ignorance.   
“I was just passing by m’lord,” he muttered.  
“Quite forward aren’t you, surely you didn’t expect to fool me?” he took a step forward, as Kiyoomi automatically took one backwards. In no time at all, he found himself cornered against the nearest pillar, Miya half a breath away, and leaning into his personal space. Was he allowed to do this? Wasn’t anyone going to call him out.  
“Say Omi,” he whispered, and Kiyoomi’s eyes shut as his breath fanned his face. “yer look dreadfully pale in general, yer skin could use work, and yeh look like the milk maid, nut yeh quite pretty when yeh blush huh?”  
He was going to die, Kiyoomi knew it. Miya Atsumu’s eyes held promises and none of them seemed like good ones.   
And then Atsumu leaned back, and turned around, then started walking away.  
“Keep yer nose to yerself Kiyoomi. Yeh don’t wanna get hurt.”

  
Kiyoomi had had enough. He reached down and unbuckled his shoe. With all the precision he could muster, he sent it sailing right through the air, and watched it hit Miya Atsumu in the back of the head, emitting a satisfying thud.  
Atsumu twirled around, eyes wide, his right hand groping the back of his head while the left clenched at his side.  
Kiyoomi moved away, to make sure the prime minister couldn’t hear him, and then approached Atsumu, allowing his upper lip to curl visibly in disgust. 

  
“I thought you were disgusting, but you really do exceed my expectations each time.”  
Atsumu stared.   
Kiyoomi reached down to pick up his shoe. he could feel the panic setting in, just a hairs breadth away. But he didn’t allow it to show on his face.Atsumu gaped at him. And then, his face broke into a smile, the most genuine one Kiyoomi had seen on him thus far.  
“Omi, yeh really are somethin’ else,” he chortled, and walked away. Kiyoomi could hear his laughter echoing through the corridor, even for a while after he’d left.

Somehow a shoe to the head had miraculously made Miya Atsumu more tolerable than he had been.  
“Yer trustworthy,” he told him as he reached for the futon in Kiyoomi's room and hauled it over his shoulder.   
“Don’t worry about privacy, I set up a partition in the middle of the room,” he told Kiyoomi, “Grab yer brushes, and stuff.”  
It didn’t take long to set up Atsumu’s room, and Kiyoomi found that Atsumu was a tolerable roommate.  
“so did my shoe fix your brain or…?”  
“Ah its nothing,” Miya replied airily, waving his hand in the air.   
“Looks like yeh gonna be my first friend Kiyoomi!” he said brightly.  
“No,” Kiyoomi said, because he could, but then Miya pouted and Kiyoomi almost jumped out of his skin, because a day ago, he would’ve never thought Miya would try anything remotely cute.   
Not cute, he told himself. Definitely not cute.

  
He should’ve realized things wouldn’t be that smooth sailing. That night, Kiyoomi lay on his futon on one side of the partition separating THEIR room, and closed his eyes, shifting from one position to the other, rolling around, trying to fall asleep.  
Another deep moan, and Kiyoomi had given up any thought of sleep. On the other side of their partition, Miya was apparently murdering some girl with his cock.   
“Ah, atsu-uu – ah!”  
“shh, quiet love,” Miya whispered softly, there was a grunt, and the girl did something akin to a scream that was suddenly muffled, until Kiyoomi decided he’d had enough.  
He stood up, pillow in hand, and walked out into Atsumu’s part of the room. The candle was lit at the head of the futon, for which Kiyoomi was grateful for, he wasn’t in the mood for observing naked sweaty bodies. He flung the pillow at Atsumu’s head. Atsumu stopped mid thrust, and the girl looked up confused.  
Seeing Kiyoomi, she gasped and hid her face behind Atsumu’s arms, but Kiyoomi had already seen.  
He gaped. The daughter of the minister for foreign affairs.  
“You absolute fucking buffoon,” he yelled, and Atsumu looked up at him, looking slightly nervous. “Hey Omi kun.”  
“You moron!” Kiyoomi yelled. “Anyone, you could’ve had anyone else! Do you know what would happen if someone found out?”  
“Tsumu you said he wouldn’t come out,” the girl whispered from under Atsumu’s body.   
“give me a second Kyoka,” he murmured.  
“so I could’ve had anyone eh?” he said cheekily. “Just joking,” he added hastily.  
“Omi kun,” he said turning to Kiyoomi sheepishly. “we’ll be quieter.”  
“No.”  
Seeing Atsumu’s arms wrapped possessively around the slender body underneath him was uncoiling a roll of fire in his belly. He didn’t like it.   
“This is my room y'know,” Atsumu said, raising an eyebrow.  
“It’s ours,” Kiyoomi snapped. There was a silence as the word “ours” hung in the air awkwardly. For the second time that night, as the heat rose in his face, Kiyoomi was grateful that the lights were dim. He cleared his throat.  
“Okay, just a second.” Atsumu promised.   
Kiyoomi clenched his jaw, and nodded once then moved to his side of the room.  
Crap, I forgot my pillow, he thought, and turned back, only to find Atsumu crouched in between Kyoka’s legs, powerful hands holding her thighs to the sides. Her head was resting heavily on the pillow, hands clutching her mouth, as Atsumu worked her wild with his tongue.  
Atsumu seemed to sense him, and for one second, he turned to look at Kiyoomi, and the fire in his eyes seemed brighter in the dim lights.  
“One second Omi kun,” he said, his voice husky, “I always make sure my partner finishes first.”  
The room was quiet, as Kiyoomi lay down, having changed the covers on his pillow. The bulge in between his legs was throbbing painfully. I have to be really quiet, he thought. Real quiet. 

Pain. His face was burning, and he felt the disgusting trickle down his nose, the whistle blew, and he heard their coach yelling.  
And then clearer than anyone else’s, the voice he dreaded the most,  
“What the fuck Omi kun? Weren’t you paying attention?”  
Obviously not, he wanted to snap but the blood was trickling down his nose at an alarming rate and he was finding it increasingly difficult to look at Atsumu.   
The thought of having intruded on something very private, on having witnessed hiss teammate, or at least someone that looked very similar to his teammate in an intimate situation rankled him, and his inability to get Atsumu’s face, the one with the heated gaze, out of his mind, made him want to ball up in shame.   
“Omi kun, here, an ice pack,” his hand grazed Kiyoomi’s own as he reached to take it, and Kiyoomi pulled back as if electrocuted.  
“Sorry,” he muttered. He knew Atsumu was frowning. He couldn’t see it, but he knew. There was something about the quiet following his apology that suggested that Atsumu had caught on to…whatever there was to catch on to.  
“Alright, everyone take a ten minute break,” their coach called out.  
“Sakusa, you need to head to the infirmary ?”  
“No, I’m fine it’s just a little injury,”Kiyoomi replied. Coach Forster frowned but didn’t say a word.  
“Man, Kiyo you really should’ve paid attention, you almost got a black eye there,” Bokuto said, a little too cheerful for Kiyoomi's taste.   
“Omi kun, you okay?”  
He couldn’t avoid Atsumu forever. It was just a dream. A silly one, that was somehow elaborate and vivid and so, so real. he’d been day dreaming on the court. Almost gotten himself killed.  
He looked up and met Atsumu's eyes resolutely, taking him by surprise.  
“I’m fine, I’ll just wash my face a bit,” he said.  
When he returned after having tended to his bleeding and scrubbed his face thoroughly, the team were huddled up in the midst of a life alteringly important discussion.  
“So who?”  
“Whom,” Shion corrected on impulse. “Hmm, Bokuto I guess?”  
“Whom what?” Sakusa asked, as several people wolf whistled and thumped a beaming Bokuto on the back. He set down a hand rowel and sat down next to them, taking his place in the somewhat messy circle.   
“Whom would you fuck from the team,” Atsumu supplied cheekily.  
Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose in disgust.   
“Hey Omi san,” Hinata said excitedly, “Bokuto san said he’s too loyal to Akaashi san to do anything of the sort, and captain and Tomas picked each other. Who would you pick?”  
“No one,” Sakusa replied promptly. “You’re all disgusting.”  
Liar, his mind supplied helpfully.  
He didn’t want to know what Atsumu’s answer would’ve been. He didn’t.  
“But if you had no choice and you HAD to, like, sharks would bite off your toes if you didn’t,” Hinata persisted.  
“what about you then?” Kiyoomi asked, mainly to divert the attention away from him. He could feel Atsumu’s eyes boring holes into him.  
Hinata paused and stroked his chin like a wise, wizened old man.  
“Probably Atsumu san,” he said, shrugging. The room broke into protests for which Kiyoomi was grateful for because he was convinced that if someone had bothered to listen, they’d hear the sound of his stomach falling and flattening like a pancake.  
Did Hinata like Atsumu? No that couldn’t be, this was an extreme situation, if Hinata didn’t fuck Atsumu he’d have his toes bitten off by sharks, he had no choice…he was really not to blame. Of course there was some poor taste involved, but he’d forgive Hinata he may be only a few months younger but he was still a child  
“And you Omi kun?”  
You, he thought. He fiddled with his nails, he didn’t want to think, who had Atsumu picked?  
The room had gone oddly quiet, and he looked up to find everyone staring at him, mouths agape, except for Atsumu who was looking anywhere but at him. There was an interesting shade of pink on his cheeks, Kiyoomi noted.  
“Atsumu?” Shion gasped. “Sakusa kun, did you say ‘you’ as in ‘Atsumu’?”  
Sakusa stared. He sure as hell didn’t say Atsumu, no no no, he hadn’t said it aloud. Fuck.  
“If I HAVE to, at the risk of my toes being eaten!” silence.  
“Because,” he fumbled to say, “Atsumu would be done like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And then the hassle is all over.” And the room erupted in laughter, except for Atsumu who blustered about how that wasn’t true, (“Omi kun you take that back!”)  
“Everyone back on the court!” coach Forster called out. “Except you Sakusa, warm the bench a little bit today.”  
Atsumu was the last to get in position, he was obviously stalling for time. As he walked away, he looked back, and the smirk that Kiyoomi so despised, was back on his face.  
“Jokes on you Omi, I always make sure my partner finishes first.”

  
“I’m stuck,” Kiyoomi said, coming out from his side of the room, arms entangled in the sleeves of his robe. Unable to see, he stumbled into a bookshelf, and tripped over the footstool. He was caught two seconds before his face hit the floor.   
“Thank you,” he gasped, as Atsumu set him back on his feet.   
“Help me,” he added flopping his arms helplessly. There was a silence, in which Kiyoomi wondered if Atsumu had left the chamber, but then a gruff, “Hmm” made him sag with relief.  
Hands wrapped around the inside of his arms, and tugged, and for a second Kiyoomi lost all semblance of reason. The hands on him were rough, from years of training to be the best swordsman in the country, and the feel of them on his oversensitive skin, sent his mind into a silent frenzy. He inadvertently bit his lip, as the back of Atsumu’s hand mistakenly hit against his chest, but stayed stock still, suddenly afraid to breathe.   
“There,” Atsumu said, clearing his throat.  
Kiyoomi stared at the top half of his robe in Atsumu’s hands, and then turned away.  
“I wanted to put it on, not take it off,” he mumbled.  
Atsumu gaped. “well why didn’t ya tell me before I pulled it off?” he exclaimed.  
“I-“ Kiyoomi gritted his teeth, “ I forgot.”  
He knew Atsumu could see the patches of pink creeping their way down his naked back, he seemed to be in a perpetual state of red, every time Atsumu was in the vicinity.   
“Stop staring,” he muttered.  
“I’m not,” Atsumu replied quickly. A little too quickly. Kiyoomi turned around to find Atsumu stroking the back of his neck sheepishly.   
“Anyway, Kiyoomi lets do something fun today!”  
A child. Miya Atsumu, the prime minister’s son, the one they call a giant rogue, was actually a giant overgrown child.  
“I’m busy,” he replied, moving to his wardrobe and pulling out something less tight to put on. He found a comfortable linen robe, and put it on, securing it firmly with a knot.  
“Come on, yeh've basically made me celibate, and I can’t leave this room, thanks to my idiot father.”  
“that’s not my problem, I didn’t ask to be here.”  
There was a silence.  
“I didn’t ask to be here either, Sakusa.”   
“In two months,” he said, “I’ll be out of here, there’ll be plenty of time for fucking around then, right?” he asked losing his temper.  
“In two months’ time, I won’t be here.”  
Kiyoomi stared.  
“what?”  
“My father’s sending me off as ambassador to the East. He’s too cowardly to do it himself,” he laughed bitterly.  
Kiyoomi knew there was something huge in those words, something ominous, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  
“I don’t understand.”  
“It’s essentially a death sentence.” Atsumu didn’t take his eyes off him.  
“You know the King of the west has a daughter, right?”  
Kiyoomi nodded dumbly.   
“She ran away with the crown prince of our kingdom. They’re hidden within the palace walls. Word has it she’s pregnant now.”  
Kiyoomi didn’t understand. He waited.  
“Now, the west wants insurance, to make sure precious Ria doesn’t get hurt. The crown prince is crazy though,”  
Kiyoomi looked around nervously, suddenly terrified of being overheard.   
“And that’s where I come in,” Atsumu said, pointing his thumb towards himself. “The princess’ body is frail. Chances are, she dies during child birth, or she lives a little longer. Either way it’s over for me. The moment she gets hurt, I’m their pig for slaughter. Killing me won’t cause any wars, and it’ll be a tit for tat situation. No more casualties. No declarations of revenge. I’m important enough to be killed, but not enough to be avenged.”  
Kiyoomi couldn’t breathe. There was no way. There was no way Miya Atsumu, beautiful, vibrant Miya Atsumu, would be killed. He refused to believe it.  
“No,” he whispered. Please no.  
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu called, his voice light. “it’s not a big deal. I’m prepared. But you definitely took away my last boning months from me,” he finished cheerfully.   
He would NOT cry. Kiyoomi would NOT cry for who was essentially, a stranger to him.  
“So Kiyoomi,” Atsumu called out grinning, “feeling sorry for me?”  
“No.”   
There was silence in which Atsumu observed Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi looked within himself to understand what he was feeling. He didn't understand. But he knew what he wanted to do.   
Kiyoomi slowly brought his trembling hands to the knot on his robe, and pulled at the string, untying it.  
“Atsumu,” he said, trying to contain his voice. “Close the door.”  
Atsumu stared at him, his eyes widening, mouth slightly open.  
“Shit,” he whispered, standing up slowly. He didn’t take his eyes off Kiyoomi, as he crossed the threshold to the door, not when he removed his robe entirely, leaving him only in his linen undergarments. Not when Kiyoomi reached out a trembling arm towards him.  
He made his way towards him, and took his hand in his.   
“Yer so beautiful,” he whispered, and Kiyoomi felt his body flush. He turned his head away, and said, “you told me I looked like your sixty year old milk maid.”  
“ I was lying. Yer the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”  
His hands rested on Kiyoomi’s bare waist, and slowly pulled him closer, flush against each other, hip to hip, chest to chest.  
“Kiyoomi are ya sure?” he asked softly.  
Kiyoomi inhaled deeply.   
“Could you shut up and fuck me please?” he asked, his voice catching on the last word.   
Atsumu’s eyes darkened.   
They reached for each other at the same time, Atsumu pulling him in by the waist, Kiyoomi’s hand pulling Atsumu’s neck, their lips crashed against each other, heavy from the get go.  
There was no softness here, Atsumu’s lips were unforgiving against his own, relentless, and Kiyoomi felt his lips molding to whatever shape Atsumu wanted them to be. When Atsumu’s tongue flicked against his bottom lip, Kiyoomi let out a whine, a sound he hadn’t thought he was capable of, and opened his mouth to protest, it was too much, the feeling was too much, this still too new for him, but Atsumu’s tongue slipped into his mouth, silencing him on that forever.   
There was so much feeling his body wasn’t used to, as Atsumu’s tongue stroked his own, insistently, soaking all the choked sounds he tried to muffle in vain.   
Atsumu pulled back, and rested his forehead on Kiyoomi’s, arms still gripping his waist as tightly as allowed.   
“Kiyoomi,” he whispered, sounding hoarse and broken. Kiyoomi’s cock twitched uncomfortably, and Atsumu seemed to have noticed because of course he would, Kiyoomi was almost naked, and completely open and responsive to his touch.  
Atsumu dived back to recapture his mouth, this time not hesitating to let his tongue entwine his own, and his hands roamed the sides of Kiyoomi’s waist, down past his hips, before cupping his rear and squeezing tightly.   
“No,” Kiyoomi gasped, but Atsumu simply moved his lips downwards, nipping along his jaw, before reaching his collarbone and suckling.   
“Ah!” Kiyoomi cried out, jerking his hips towards Atsumu’s own, and Atsumu tightened his hold around his rear in response. He let his hands wander south, curling around his knee, before pulling him up flush against him, so Kiyoomi had no choice but to wrap his legs around Atsumu’s hips.  
He leaned upwards to capture Kiyoomi’s lips once more, but Kiyoomi pulled away panting.  
“I-Atsumu- I’ve ne-never done this before,” he stuttered.  
“I know,” Atsumu hummed into the hollow in his throat, and Kiyoomi was struck with the need to whack him on his head. So he did.  
“Ow! Temper Omi-kun,”Atsumu said grinning.   
“Don’t worry,” he added slowly. “I’ll make it feel good. I promise.”  
Kiyoomi gulped, and hoped that Atsumu hadn’t noticed, but his cock pressed against Atsumu’s abdomen certainly didn’t allow much room for imagination.   
“Atsumu I can walk to th- Ah!”   
“Hm?” Atsumu hummed around his nipple. He tugged it in between his teeth, then suckled it slowly. Kiyoomi was sure he was losing his mind. He wasn’t going to live through this. He couldn’t breathe.  
“No- stop,” he said, even as his hands pulled him closer, tighter, allowing him as much access to his body as possible. He was sure the entire town could hear him.   
"no one's here," Atsumu assured him, lips slick with spit, "it's just you and me." he caught the other nipple in between his teeth, and supporting Kiyoomi's weight against his body with one hand, he used the other to brush against his ignored nipple tweaking it between him fingers.   
Kiyoomi bucked his hips and, he couldn't help it, the pressure against his cock wasn't enough,   
"Atsumu-uu," he groaned, voice heavy with need, and finally, finally Atsumu carried him across the room and dropped him gently on the bed.   
Atsumu took his own robe off hastily, and Kiyoomi laid back on the bed watching him, seeing the curl of his powerful biceps, the way the muscles on his back rolled as he reached for the lotion.   
He placed the little vial on the side of the bed then reached down to pull Kiyoomi’s undergarments off. Once he'd done that, Atsumu say back on his heels and stared.   
Kiyoomi, completely naked, his cock red and incredibly, embarrassingly hard, pulled up his hands to cover his face but Atsumu reached for them and pinned them over his head as he drank in the site or him. His eyes travelled from the smooth curve of Kiyoomi’s eyebrows, the upturned cut of his jaw, the wells at his collarbones, down his lean fit abdomen and over his cock, oozing and dripping with precum.   
“Yer so beautiful,” he said again, voice reverent.  
“You told me,” Kiyoomi replied, turning his face away from the intensity of his gaze.  
“But ya don’t believe me.”  
They stared at each other, the silence stretching between them, and Kiyoomi wished he could voice his own thoughts as genuinely and openly as Atsumu could. He settled for stroking his thick beautiful eyebrows as gently as possible, and hoped that Atsumu would get the message.  
And then Atsumu parted his thighs and Kiyoomi was lost again. He trailed soft open mouthed kisses along the length of his thigh, then draped it over his shoulder, only to do the same to his other leg; leaving him squirming and twitching. Atsumu leaned in and licked a stripe along the juncture where his thigh ended, and then cupped his balls.  
“Stop teasing, you- you ass!” Kiyoomi couldn’t raise his head, he was barely holding himself together.  
“I’m just observing,” Atsumu said, cupping his balls and planting wet kisses around him. And then finally, finally he raised his hand, and wrapped it around Kiyoomi’s needy cock.  
Kiyoomi moaned, and grabbed fistfuls of Atsumu’s hair, wordlessly begging him to do something…anything.  
Atsumu wrapped his fingers around him, and stroked, firm, precise strokes that had Kiyoomi clutching his arms in desperation.  
“Not y-yet,” he panted.   
Atsumu’s hand stopped at once, and Kiyoomi rued the loss but then Atsumu was pouring something over his fingers and rubbing them together.  
He crawled up the sheets, and leaned on one elbow to plant a wet, messy kiss on Kiyoomi’s mouth, and Kiyoomi leaned into it, his mouth falling open to draw Atsumu in.  
And then without warning, Atsumu pushed a finger inside him. Kiyoomi’s eyes widened, and he choked into the kiss, only to have Atsumu wrap his free hand around the back of his neck and lift his head to take in all the punched sounds he was making. Atsumu oved his middle finger in and out, slowly, with less resistance, his lips moving to Kiyoomi’s neck, the bites a bit harsher than before. Kiyoomi was sure he was not going to be able to talk for a while, he had lost all semblance of control over his body the moment Atsumu had touched him and now he was far too gone to worry about the workings of his body.   
He was expecting the second finger, but it didn’t make the intrusion any less shocking to his senses. He was sure he was babbling at this point, and Atsumu’s breathing by his ear had sped up considerably. Kiyoomi though he heard a moan by his ear, and his pride soaked it all up.  
“Ah yer so beautiful love, so beautiful, I could look at ya all day,” Atsumu mumbled desperately in his ear, as his fingers started scissoring him open.   
“Hurry,” Kiyoomi whispered brokenly, as Atsumu pressed another finger inside, Kiyoomi wrapped his hand around Atsumu’s neck and tugged him close, his breath stuttering, throat feeling used.  
And then Atsumu rose, and tossed his undergarments off, and Kiyoomi watched from behind hooded eyes, a mild feeling of panic settling over him as he attempted to compare three fingers to Atsumu’s cock hanging over him ominously. Atsumu raised one of his legs and hooked it over his shoulder,   
“Omi kun,”he whispered. “Kiyoomi.” And then he pushed in.  
It was painful. Kiyoomi cupped his mouth with both his hands to stop the whimper that threatened to escape his lips. Atsumu’s face looked contorted but he kept pushing in until he was fully sheathed. And then he stopped.   
Atsumu reached down to swipe under Kiyoomi’s eyes, which startled hi. He had no idea he’d been crying.  
“It’s okay,” Atsumu said softly, “It’s okay. Trust me Omi kun.”  
Kiyoomi’s legs were trembling, but Atsumu stayed stock still, staring into his eyes, and brushing the curls stuck on his forehead. He leaned forward, careful not to move his lower body, and then touched his forehead to Kiyoomi’s.   
“Shall we stop here Omi kun?” he asked softly.  
Kiyoomi stared at him, dread creating a crater in his chest.  
“Did I do something wrong?” He choked out.  
Atsumu opened his eyes in shock.  
“Wha- No! No, of course not! I just- I don’t want to hurt ya.”  
Kiyoomi wanted to punch him. But that would involve moving.  
“You promised it’ll feel good.” He reminded Atsumu. “Don’t go back on your promises, Miya.”  
“Ew don’t call me Miya.”  
“Then don’t ask me if I want to stop when you’re buried IN me, you jerk.”  
Atsumu gaped. And then he chortled.   
“Hmm,” he hummed, and reached down to kiss Kiyoomi. Atsumu’s tongue, Kiyoomi noted vaguely, was a dangerous, dangerous thing. He closed his eyes, meshing into the feeling of Atsumu’s tongue moving in and out of his mouth rhythmically.   
Atsumu pulled back suddenly, and smiled at him.  
“Looks like it’s okay now,” he whispered, and Kiyoomi glanced down to see Atsumu’s length slowly pushing himself in. He wasn’t sure when Atsumu had moved himself out, but now the pain was secondary, there was something else, a tight pressure in the coil of his belly, building, slowly.  
“Atsumu,” he gasped, gripping his arms.  
“I know,” Atsumu voiced into the crook of his neck, and this time, he thrusted harder purposefully.  
“Oh god,” Kiyoomi cried out as Atsumu brushed across that sensitive bundle of nerves he’d heard about but never found on his own.  
“Right there,” Atsumu muttered, and pulled out only to push back in hitting the same spot he’d hit before.  
“What’s happening?” Kiyoomi asked, now the panic fully settling in. he could feel it down to his toes, his thighs were trembling uncontrollably, and there was just so much feeling in every part of his body. His senses felt magically heightened, and the tightness in his belly was hot white and overwhelming. Atsumu rammed into him, while at the same time tugging a nipple with his teeth, pulling another drawn out whimper from him. Kiyoomi’s body had officially separated from his mind because his legs were jumping and angling themselves as wide as they would go and he was sure, he wasn’t the one doing it.   
Atsumu’s hands were everywhere, moving down his waist and over his chest, spreading his cheeks open, and Kiyoomi raked his fingers over his back trying to pull him closer, tugging at his hair in frustration.   
"Yer waist is so slim, so pretty Kiyoomi, so very very pretty," Atsumu mumbled against his skin and Kiyoomi keened.   
Atsumu thrust with innate precision right into the same spot one more time, and wrapped his thick fingers around Kiyoomi’s cock, once, twice, thrice. Kiyoomi came so hard, it was as if the orgasm was ripped from his body. His hips lifted clean off the sheets, in an arc he had never known he could make, eyes rolling to the back of his head, even as Atsumu kept thrusting, working him through it. When the shuddering finally stopped, Kiyoomi lay back, drenched in sweat and sticky from his own cum, too spent out to move.  
“Hey, I’m not done yet,” a voice whispered in his ear, even as hands circled his waist and lifted him like a ragdoll onto Atsumu’s lap.   
Atsumu thrust once more, and the overstimulation had Kiyoomi whimpering. Atsumu stopped immediately.   
“Shall I stop?”  
“No,” Kiyoomi said, mustering as much strength as he could into his voice.   
“Okay,” Atsumu said, and pulled Kiyoomi towards his body, resting his head on the crook of his neck before lifting him up and settling him down on his cock.  
“I won’t last long,” Atsumu assured him, thrusting upwards as Kiyoomi pulled on his hair, panting loudly.   
“Inside,” Kiyoomi said into his ear.  
Atsumu stilled.   
“I think pulling out is bett-“  
“Inside,”Kiyoomi insisted.  
Atsumu lifted Kiyoomi’s hips once more, twice, and then came with a long drawn out moan.   
Atsumu lay back down on the sheets, pulling Kiyoomi down with him, settled on top of him. For a while they stared into each other’s eyes.  
“Hey Atsumu,” Kiyoomi called.  
“Hm?”  
“You can’t go anywhere now. You better take responsibility.”

Kiyoomi woke up with a loud gasp that probably woke everyone at the inn. Except Atsumu who was already awake, in the dead of the night, one leg spread out in front of him balancing his laptop, and hugging the other to his chest.  
“Omi kun, bad dream?” he asked removing his glasses, and rubbing his eyes.  
Kiyoomi was in a predicament to say the least. He was very, very…hard. He’d woken up with a hard on. He had a hard on in the room he shared with Miya Atsumu.   
“I’m fine,” he managed, and tried to find his way towards the bathroom, only to trip on the carpet fold and find himself sprawled over Atsumu’s lap. The laptop had tumbled to the floor, and Atsumu had instictively lowered his knee which saved Kiyoomi from a world of pain and brought him a universe of humiliation. Atsumu’s palm was buried under Kiyoomi’s lap, and fro the way Atsumu’s eyes widened, he could tell he knew. To his credit, Atsumu managed to keep his mouth shut. There was a definite pink tinge in his cheeks, one that Kiyoomi would reflect on after he’d drowned himself in the bathtub.  
“Sorry,” he mumbled and got off the bad, cursing his bad luck because no matter what world he was in, real or not, present or past, he seemed to just keep tripping.   
“uh, no problem Kiyoomi- Sak- Omi. Kun”   
Kiyoomi managed, one, two, maybe three steps before Atsumu opened his big mouth.  
“A wet dream was it?”  
Kiyoomi snarled and threw the nearest carry bag, contents and all, at Atsumu. He dodged it but Kiyoomi gained some satisfaction in knowing that it would take Atsumu a while to clean up the mess.  
The satisfaction was short lived; he came back to discover it was HIS carry bag.

Kiyoomi dreaded seeing Atsumu the next day. Thankfully, by the time he had woken up, Atsumu had already left for breakfast. The fact that he’d scrubbed down the tub and the sink, left an unpleasant taste in Kiyoomi’s mouth. He had one last night left as Atsumu’s roommate.  
They were playing a practice match with the Rajin’s again in the afternoon, and Kiyoomi couldn’t deal with their bendy middle blocker or his own insufferable cousin that seemed to have adopted a habit of making pointed signals at Atsumu whenever he caught Kiyoomi’s eyes.  
He wanted to sit down and think. Leaving aside the mortifying details of last night’s dream, the eerie feeling of the situation being déjà vu, and the striking resemblance of dream Atsumu to real Atsumu was freaking him out.   
He didn’t feel much familiarity with his dream self, that Kiyoomi was far too soft and pliable, and bent like a noddle to Atsumu’s tongue in places Kiyoomi didn’t want to ever see again. Definitely not. Never. He flushed, remembering how real it had felt, how he’d woken up sure he’d be feeling the telltale ache in his lower back, the way he’d been sure there would be arms wrapped around him, and soft laughter at his ear. Waking up made him feel lonely. He’d woken up in a world where Atsumu, just didn’t care. Not that he cared that Atsumu cared. The very idea was ridiculous. Preposterous.  
But Atsumu didn’t give any indication of having almost felt Kiyoomi’s hard on in the middle of the night. In fact, he seemed more cheerful than before, and completely at ease. His sets were perfect as always, and the jackals won 2-0, much to the fox looking middle blocker’s consternation.  
“Good job today, Omi kun,” Atsumu remarked cheerfully.  
“Stay away from me,”Kiyoomi grumbled.  
“That’s my brother’s boyfriend,” Atsumu continued, completely undeterred. He checked his watch.  
“’samu is such a prick, he never brings me any onigiri, but watch him come for Suna with his tail between his legs,” he muttered.  
Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, at the slight bitter undertone to his words.  
“You must be a terrible brother,” he said casually, to gauge Atsumu’s reaction.  
Atsumu turned to look at him.  
“I’m the best brother,” he said quietly. Kiyoomi stayed quiet, but didn’t leave, even as Miya Osamu entered the arena with two huge parcels held in his hands. The moment he entered, Suna jogged towards him and pulled him in for a hug.   
Atsumu had an odd expression on his face as he watched them.   
“Did you like him?”  
Atsumu’s head whipped towards him, and then quickly back to the couple, completely unaware of their surroundings.  
“Once,” he admitted slowly. “didn’t tell em though. Neither ofthem,” he added.  
“But,” he continued, “sometimes, it’s like ‘Samu doesn’t even remember me.”   
He stood to Kiyoomi’s right, angling himself in a way that seemed as if he was hiding himself from view.   
Kiyoomi wasn’t sure what he should say.  
“Maybe you should let yourself be seen,” he said quietly.   
Atsumu sighed.   
“Sometimes, I- don’t get me wrong, being single is great! But-“ He ran a hand through his hair. “sometimes, just very very rarely okay, I wish- I think- it must be great. To have somebody.”  
The silence following his words, seemed to remind Atsumu that he was exposing his vulnerabilities to Sakusa Kiyoomi, the prickliest guy in the world, as he’d say.  
“You have me.”  
Atsumu looked up slowly.   
“What?”   
It was too late for Kiyoomi. He couldn’t do it anymore. All those moments in his dreams and the person in it, the feelings he’d carried into the real world, they all felt far too real. I’m crazy, he thought. There’s no way that’s us. There’s no way. But even so, he couldn’t deny that now, right here, this moment, was real.  
“You heard me,” he said, and walked away.  
He walked a few steps, to look back only to find Atsumu standing in the exact same spot that he’d left him, and from the distance Kiyoomi couldn’t be sure, but maybe, just maybe the pink riding high on his cheeks wasn’t from post-match exhaustion.   
“I’ll help you stretch,” he called out.  
“Hngh?”  
Kiyoomi stifled a smile. He had a reputation to uphold.  
“Not asking aga-“  
“Coming!” Atsumu yelled, sprinting at him.  
Atsumu didn’t try to ask him about it and Kiyoomi was grateful. There was only so much soul bearing he could do for a day.   
He pushed Atsumu’s bent knee towards his chest, trying to ignore how close they were in this position.  
“Yer hair’s getting long,” Atsumu commented after a while.  
“Yeah, I have to get it cut,” Kiyoomi murmured, reaching to switch Atsumu’s leg.”  
“I like it long.” Don’t blush, don’t blush.  
“Definitely going to cut it then.”  
“So mean Omi Omi!” Miya Atsumu pouting should be criminalized. The sheer audacity.   
Kiyoomi took a bit longer to finish the stretching exercises. It wasn’t because he wanted to spend time with Atsumu. It was because he'd had a grueling day and he was feeling kind because he wanted Atsumu to sleep well so he could sleep well because he didn’t want Atsumu whining over his painful wrists to keep him up at night. That is why. Kiyoomi felt like a kind person. he wasn’t sure he enjoyed the feeling.  
When they entered the empty changing room together, Kiyoomi pulled off his shirt slowly. This time he could feel eyes on him, on his back, on his shoulders, on the moles on his back.  
“Stop staring,” he murmured without turning around.  
“I’m not,” Atsumu said quickly. A little too quickly.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Kiyoomi walked as fast as his legs could go, jumping over the little bridge across the pond, and rushing to their room. Kiyoomi left to meet his parents two days ago. The foreign feeling as he’d entered his own chambers back at his house, had thrown him off. This didn’t feel like home. Home…  
He could hear the impatient tapping, and he smiled a little to himself as he threw the door to their room open.   
The tapping stopped.  
“Yer back” Atsumu said breathlessly. “I was waiting for ya.”  
Kiyoomi smiled, his heart light.  
“I’m home.”

During the day Atsumu pestered him for stories, for his ideas on the government, for his political stances, for his knowledge on music and poetry. At night he was more demanding, relentless.   
Kiyoomi loved it. He was sure he loved Miya Atsumu. It was a sobering thought.  
“Hey Omi?”   
“Hm?” his brush worked steadily over the canvas.  
“I love you”   
Kiyoomi’s breath hitched. He turned to look at Atsumu, trying to understand, but Atsumu was looking at him so softly, he thought he’d break just a little.   
“Okay,” he said instead, throat dry, eyes a little too wet for his liking.  
“Not going to say it back?”  
“Am I supposed to ?” I love you I love you I love you  
“Don’t you?” I do I do I do   
“Hmm, nope.”  
“Yer so mean Omi!”  
And Kiyoomi laughed, as Atsumu pouted and tugged at his sleeves like the attention seeking man child he knew him to be.

  
“Hey Omi, maybe when ya get to work in the palace, ya could advocate-“ he hesitated, “what I mean is-“ he clears his throat. “if people like us want to, we can get married. That sort of thing”  
Kiyoomi hid his face to make sure Atsumu wouldn’t notice his face burning.  
“You're trying to get me killed.”  
“True. bravery does get ya killed. Yeh don’t have to be brave,” he said thoughtfully.   
“Besides, they probably allow it in other parts of the world.”  
Atsumu hums.  
“That was an awful proposal by the way.”  
He smiles a little giddily as Atsumu blusters.

“Want me to leave the room so ya can focus?”  
“No, its fine, I’ve just got a bit left,” Kiyoomi said frowning, as he attempted to recall the twelve principles a queen should abide. He tapped the wooden end of the brush to his head, trying to recall. It was admittedly harder, with Atsumu staring at him reverently. But he wasn’t going to admit that.  
“Hey Omi?”  
“Hmm?”   
Atsumu reached out to cup his cheeks in his hands, and place a soft warm kiss on his forehead. He pulled back to stare at Kiyoomi’s eyes, only to pull him back for another, just above his eyebrow.  
“W-what was that for?” Kiyoomi asked, trying to retrieve his brush from where it’d fallen to.  
“Yeh should stop frowning, ya look so much more beautiful when ya smile,” he said.   
Kiyoomi wanted to die.

What were these memories? They were coming to him more frequently now, and he couldn’t even call the dreams anymore because the visions were far too clear and far too frequent. They popped into his head when he was eating, and they intruded when he was showering. The people in his head, they were real. They’re us. The thought was faint, but ever present.

  
“Let go of me!” Kiyoomi yelled, but the hands wrapped around his arms refused to budge, and continued to drag him through the open court. They were going towards Atsumu’s room. Why? Why why why-  
“Why are you doing this? You can’t just drag me off!”  
The Military police, he noted through a haze of panic. There was a badge pinned on the front of the goon nearest him, holding onto his right arm. A kitsune. He couldn’t breathe, there was something lodged in his throat-  
They dropped him in the open courtyard facing Atsumu’s room. Kiyoomi could hear footsteps approaching, but the fear was gripping him, forcing him to train his eyes on dirt beneath his hands. Fear, not for himself, but for Atsumu. He had left the room for fifteen minutes, how did this happen? Where was he?   
“You.”  
He knew that voice. He looked up, slowly already knowing what to expect. The prime minister stood there, his eyes filled to the brim, with pure unadultered fury.   
“Leave us,” he told the soldiers that didn’t bear the kitsune emblem, his eyes not straying from Kiyoomi.   
He had to explain, he had to think, quickly, quickly. He had to make this his fault, Atsumu shouldn’t be brought into this, but how was he to do it?   
“How dare you?” he heard, and he raised his head only to have it knocked back. The stinging on his jaw made it hard to breathe, his eyes were watering but he refused to blink. He would not shed tears. He would not apologize.  
“how dare you do- do those vulgar things with my son?” the man bellowed, and Kiyoomi braced himself for another punch to the face, only to have the breath knocked out of him, as a foot connected heavily with his gut.   
“He’s destined for great things! My son! He will settle down in the east, get himself a wife- his life will not be ruined by the likes of you!”  
“He’s not livestock you can sell off!” Kiyoomi spat.  
There was a silence, punctured only by the sounds of the old man panting, and Kiyoomi’s own heavy, labored breaths.  
And then a yell broke through the silence, one so packed with rage, he could taste it.  
“ WHERE IS HE? IF YOU'VE HURT HIM, I'LL KILL YOU. I'LL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU! WHERE IS HE?”  
No, go back. Kiyoomi didn’t believe in Gods. He never told his parents because it was far too controversial, a man with no beliefs, was a devil in God’s eyes they said. But now, chest heaving and ribs aching, covered in dirt and grime, Kiyoomi started praying. Please, let him leave. Please, please, if there are any Gods out there, please let him leave, he begged.   
“Look what you’ve done to him, ” the old man whispered, eyes bulging.  
Kiyoomi saw the fist coming, and closed his eyes, expecting the taste of blood. It didn’t come. Instead, he heard the sound of a muffled thud, as if someone had just fallen to the floor. The prime minister looked shocked to find himself pushed on to the ground, but Kiyoomi didn’t have eyes for him. Kiyoomi didn’t see anyone except the man crouched in front of him, trembling from head to toe, eyes a pit of hellfire. His fists were clenched, fingers curled tightly along his Katana.   
Atsumu’s katana was very much like himself. Deadly, and mind numbingly beautiful.   
“Did they hurt ya?” he asked, his back to Kiyoomi, eyes scanning the dozen soldiers surrounding them.  
“No, no they didn’t,” Kiyoomi said, his voice hoarse.  
Atsumu chanced a glance behind him, and Kiyoomi watched the light leave his eyes, watched his mouth grow slack.  
“What did they do to you?” he whispered, a man broken.  
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi called out urgently, wrapping his hand around the long sleeve of his robe. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”   
“I’m okay,” Atsumu said, not looking at him. “We’re okay.”  
“Disgusting.” The prime minister had gotten to his feet.   
“No one touches him,” Atsumu said quietly. Kiyoomi noticed the circle of soldiers exchanging uneasy looks, no matter how you looked at it, even outnumbered twelve to one, Atsumu was an intimidating figure. A threat.  
“Father,” he called out, and this, this was someone Kiyoomi had never heard before. This was a stranger, someone poised to kill.   
“Father, we’re leaving. I’m taking him with me. You could let this go, instead of taking it up with his parents because it will just let everyone know that your son ran away with a man.”  
The prime minister stared.   
“Atsumu, my son,” he said. “Have I taught you nothing? Do you really think you have the right to bargain, with your weakness out in display?”  
Atsumu noticed too late. The arrow struck him squarely in the juncture between his thumb and index finger, moving cleanly through his flesh, forcing him to drop his Katana.   
“I’ve got two hands,” he said through gritted teeth, picking it up with his other hand, and this time, he managed to deflect the arrows, sailing through the air. Atsumu fighting, was a thing of beauty. But Atsumu, no matter how godly he seemed to be, was only one man.   
Kiyoomi was rooted to the ground, as he watched Atsumu tackle arrow after arrow, soldier after soldier. He should never have become a scholar, he should have become someone that could work a sword in his hands, someone that could make sure he’d be more than just some hindrance to the man he loved.  
“Atsumu,” he whispered. “Just stop.”  
Atsumu kept fighting. He kept moving, kept pushing all the way until his father grabbed Kiyoomi by the neck and placed a knife at his throat.  
“I have the bargaining chip son,” he said quietly. Kiyoomi watched the Katana fall to the floor, defeated at last.   
“Father.”   
Kiyoomi had never been this terrified in his life, never quite this frightened as when, Atsumu, cocky, proud Atsumu whispered this one word.  
“Father please.” He was broken. Kiyoomi had broken this man.   
“Father please, I’m begging you.” There were tears rolling down his face, down the face of the strongest man Kiyoomi had ever seen, the bravest. The most beautiful. Kiyoomi had refused to cry, why was Atsumu crying?  
“Let him go,” Atsumu’s breaths were coming in rasps, shuddering breaths. “I’ll do anything. I’ll leave tomorrow itself. I’ll never set foot in this place again. Let him go. To his parents.”  
“And if I don’t ?” his father asked, voice cold and unforgiving.   
“Whatever happens to him, happens to me.” And that was as much of a death sentence as he’d ever heard.  
There was a silence as the Prime Minister weighed his options.  
“Take this boy back,” he said, dropping Kiyoomi onto the ground. “He won’t be harmed. You have my word.”  
Atsumu exhaled, a deep breath that seemed to shake him to his core.   
“And you, you will leave tomorrow. You will not have any contact with this- this-“ he gritted his teeth, apparently too disgusted to say anything.  
“I won’t,” Atsumu said, his voice breaking. “I swear I won’t.”  
Why was Atsumu making promises he couldn’t keep? Breaking promises, even to your despicable scumbag of a father, was still out of character for him.  
Why wasn’t Atsumu looking at him? Panic was a live creature crawling up his throat.  
“Atsumu,” he tried to call out. “Atsumu.”   
Don’t leave, I take it back. Don’t go. I never got to say I love you back. Atsumu. Atsumu. Atsumu.

Kiyoomi’s father wanted to disown him. His mother begged and pleaded for her son, but Kiyoomi couldn’t find it in himself to care. He had stopped feeling anything at all.  
Two months later, he found out that the princess had given birth to a healthy baby boy. She hadn’t survived. Two weeks later, word spread through the town; the Prime Minister’s rogue son was dead.   
Everything itched. The skin that Atsumu had run his fingers over, the nails that he had clipped so tenderly, the hair he had combed, everything itched.   
The pieces within him had shattered, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t sleep, he existed.   
bravery does get ya killed. Yeh don’t have to be brave. Kiyoomi existed in the space of time, to keep the memories alive, of Miya Atsumu, the bravest man he had ever known.

“Omi kun! Wake up!”  
Something was hitting him on the side of the face. His right cheek stung, but he couldn’t open his eyes. He wanted to, it was too painful, this darkness.   
And then his eyelids cracked open, and the room swam to a focus.  
“Omi kun you’re crying…Omi- how can I help?”  
“Atsumu,” he called, his throat heavy.  
“I’m here Omi kun, I’m here.”  
“Atsumu,” he tried again, and now his body was shaking, his fingers trembled as he reached to touch Atsumu’s face, to make sure he was real, to make sure he was breathing.  
And then the tears started slipping, his whole body shook as he wrapped his arms around Atsumu’s neck and pulled him as tightly as he could manage, trying to lessen the gap between their bodies, and feel his warmth.  
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu whispered, wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi’s back, and pulling him upright. “It’s alright,” he whispered stroking his hair, even as the sound of Kiyoomi’s sobs filled the room.   
“I’m not going anywhere.”  
“Don’t go.”  
“I won’t”  
“You promise?”  
“I promise.”  
They sat there, arms wrapped around each other for what felt like hours, but were probably just a couple of minutes before Atsumu shifted away.  
Kiyoomi tugged at his arm.  
“Can you- I-“   
“Move over,” Atsumu said, and Kiyoomi was grateful. Grateful for how he didn’t have to articulate his words; Atsumu seemed to just understand. They lay side by side, simply breathing while Kiyoomi’s tears dried on his cheeks, until Atsumu placed a tentative hand on his hip.   
Kiyoomi shifted, until his back pressed flush against Atsumu’s chest, and he breathed and reveled in the warmth.  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
Kiyoomi did want to talk about it. He didn’t know how.   
“Fine then, I’ll go first.” Atsumu took a deep breath.  
“Lately,” he hesitated, “I’ve been having these dreams.”  
Kiyoomi stiffened.   
“They’re uh- of you and me. But uh- not exactly because we’re wearing these weird ancient looking clothes, and you have like waist length hair.” He paused.  
“I know this sounds crazy but, they feel real. And right now,” he breathed in, “when you were having that nightmare, you called my name. You also said “minister” a couple of times, and- and in those- in my dreams, I’m the prime minister’s son,”  
Kiyoomi stayed still too afraid to breathe. And then he turned around, and faced Atsumu.  
“Me too,” he whispered, and Atsumu let out a breath he didn’t seemed to have realized he’d been holding.   
“My dreams always stop right before we- um-“ he blushed, up close Kiyoomi could see the way the pink spread like watercolor, “before we-“  
“Before we have sex?”  
Atsumu yelped. “We had sex? I was going to say make out? Omi, we like- together- like-“  
Kiyoomi knew he was turning into a squashed human tomato. Damn his god forsaken mouth.  
There was a silence that Kiyoomi knew Atsumu would break, and sure enough,  
“So was I good?”  
Kiyoomi kicked him in the shins. He buried his burning face in the soft fabric of Atsumu’s shirt.   
“You were okay,” he muttered, his voice muffled.  
He could feel it growing, Atsumu’s sweltering ego, and he cursed himself internally.   
“Hey Kiyoomi,” the sound of his name on Atsumu’s tongue made him feel tingly, “do ya think they’re real?”  
Kiyoomi didn't ’t answer. They feel real.   
“I think,” Atsumu continued, “I was in love with ya.”  
The tears threatened to come back, so Kiyoomi shut his eyes tightly.  
“Yeah?” he asked softly.  
“Yeah.”   
A pause.   
“Hey Kiyoomi?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Did we have a happy ending?”  
It was a bit hard to breathe again. Kiyoomi clutched Atsumu’s shirt, his only anchor to this world, and lied through his teeth.  
“Yeah,” he said. “we were happy.”  
Atsumu let out a shaky laugh.  
“Liar,” he said. “I know when ya lie. Yer really bad at it actually.”  
“Shut up,” Kiyoomi muttered. He hoped Atsumu wouldn’t ask him what happened. Atsumu didn’t.  
Kiyoomi thought he may be in love with Miya Atsumu. The one with his arms around him. The one with really bad jokes.  
“I had a date tonight.”  
Kiyoomi changed his mind. He hated Miya Atsumu. Fuck Miya Atsumu.   
He pushed Atsumu off him to move to his bed, only to realize they were on his bed.  
“I’m not done yet Omi,” Atsumu called out, pulling Kiyoomi back on top of him.  
“Let me go,” Kiyoomi snarled.   
“My point is,” Atsumu continued, “ I cancelled, even though I wasn’t sure you’d like me back.”  
‘like me back’? There was a pause as the words started to register, to seep into his skin.   
“You like me?” he asked, a little breathless. “Like, in the present? In the real world?"  
“why else would I pack extra bedsheets- yer slow Omi,” Atsumu said reproachingly.   
“ Sorry, all your one night stands threw me off," Kiyoomi said huffing. Atsumu had the gall to smile sheepishly.   
“And anyway, like I was saying. If god said, Atsumu you have to choose between Sakusa Kiyoomi and sex, and I like sex, but- like, id still choose you." He paused.   
"Not that I don't want sex with you. I do want sex with you. I want it very much. But like no pressure though."  
"Atsumu? "  
"yeah?"  
"Stop talking."  
"Omi!"  
He paused.   
"Anyway, I'll still stick to you. Even if I get blue balled so much my dick falls off.”  
“ I wouldn’t like you then.”  
“Hey!”  
Kiyoomi leaned into him, turning his back to Atsumu again.   
And then, he felt lips on the back of his neck, inching downwards.  
He took a sharp breath, waiting for his body to recoil in disgust, for his breathing to shallow and his skin to itch. He waited. But the only thing it did, was encourage Atsumu's lips to sink lower, and Kiyoomi's body to twist traitorously, anticipating... Wanting.   
“They say the moles on your body are from kisses- like in a past life- or something,” he blurted nervously.  
“Oh?”Atsumu said, his voice is low. “so did I give ya those moles Omi? The ones on your forehead, these ones on your back?"  
Kiyoomi shivered a little.   
"I don’t want to be covered in moles," he mumbled.   
"Too bad Omi, I’m going to keep kissing ya. Keep kissing every inch of ya."  
He smiled against Kiyoomi's skin.   
"Don’t worry, even if yer moles and no skin, I’ll probably still like ya anyway."  
He paused.  
"I like you," he repeated.  
Kiyoomi turned back to look at his eyes.   
He didnt hesitate.   
"I love you," he whispered.  
Atsumu's eyes widened.   
"I just- couldn’t say it last time," Kiyoomi said softly.   
And Atsumu nodded.   
Atsumu understood.   
Ah, Kiyoomi thought, I’m home.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the absolutely gorgeous SakuAtsu historical times art done by @onniegiri on Twitter. PLEASE CHECK IT OUT IT'S SO GOOD.
> 
> Also, hit me up on @aryaseesstars on Twitter!


End file.
